“He could explain away the insults that were heaped upon our family last night.”
Miss Hardacre had sunk gracefully into the window-seat, her melting eyes downcast towards her knees. There was infinite pensiveness in the pose of her fair head. Richard, thinking her adorable for the moment, made so bold as to seat himself beside her. How proud and yet how sensitive she was! Poor child, how was it that the Lady Letitia could abuse her so?
“Upon my honor, Jilian, I was utterly miserable when you went away last night.”
Miss Hardacre’s fingers were plucking at her gown. She did not so much as look at the lad, but hung her head like a statue of grieved and injured innocence.
“Won’t you believe me, Jilian?”
“Oh, Richard—”
“Cousin, dear cousin, how can I express my own shame and distress?”
“Then, Richard, you did not want to dance with Julia Perkaby?”
“Confound the girl. It was Aunt Letitia who forced me into it.”
“And you did not write poetry about her, and adore her singing?”